Thanks to Mary
by tasha.vick
Summary: John and Sherlock as seen by the kind, forgiving and helpful Mary. Johnlock!fic


Mary's POV:

He sat across from me, as we waited for a train headed south. As always, he was stuck in his thoughts. His gaze wasn't on me; it went back in time instead. He seemed dream bound. Thinking of all the ways it could have been, as opposed to…-me, the way it _is_. There is a fine line between love and sorrow, and I find mine to be the thinnest.

I'd give my entire life for him to remember _me_ now, at this very moment, even though I'm right in front of him and hardly transparent. But I know that's unlikely to happen. I seem to be enjoying this ugly plot twist long time in the making, and I can almost hear his duty towards me turning into pain and heartbreak. By just sitting here, by waiting for so long to do something, I am doing to him what _He_ did three years ago. And I refuse to be blamed for something as horrid as ruining a man as special as John Hamish Watson. Even though he'd be inclined to tell you I'd saved his life.

Me, I'd be inclined to scoff and remember that particular night, the night of his last birthday, when he came over, and we had dinner. When his eyes strayed to find a semblance of Sherlock Holmes in my features, it was written as clear as day on his. Invisible though it may have been to me at the time, it was there, in the way he averted his stare every time it got too intense. It was the day he stopped looking at me altogether. Well, he stopped _seeing_, anyway.

Four months ago, Sherlock came back. John punched him, told him to piss off and life went on as usual. Except it was everything but. We are now headed away from London, at John's too upbeat suggestion. Only I won't be going with him. He doesn't know it yet, but I doubt he will be anything but relieved. This won't even begin to describe my own state of mind. My heart will be a different matter, but I'll live. John, on the other hand will not. Not for long, if he stays with me.

I see it in the dark circles in his eyes, the weight loss and the dried tear marks which stain his cheeks every morning.

He's so far off, so deep in his memories that he doesn't even notice me wave the Man over. I notice how eager yet nervous Sherlock's steps are and how his state isn't that different to John's. And suddenly, John's eyes snap to mine, alert and wide. Sherlock is stood not two feet behind him, but the good doctor is too busy finding trouble breathing to realize what exactly is causing the problem. I smile, trying to convey all my love for him in that one small gesture and slide the engagement ring across the table pressing it gently onto his palm.

He stammers for words, but I silence him by looking at the impossibly tall brunette detective and his tormented expression. I'm fairly sure no one has ever made him feel the way John has. And I'm infinitely grateful that it is so. For if it wasn't, John would be dead and I don't think the world would like that.

''John?''

Sherlock speaks and John whips his head around to face him, struggling to stand, conflicting feelings making grasping the situation even harder.

He looks back at me, as if to apologize, but then he realizes that it was my doing.

''Mary, I...''

''Don't, John. There's really no need. You've always wanted my happiness, and I yours. Well, Sherlock is it for you. I'm sure it will take some time for me, but I'll get there, too, eventually. Go...love him.''

A tear slid down his flushed face and he embraced me tightly. A second longer and I don't think I would have been able to let go of him. But, fortunately, he released me from his embrace. I looked up at Sherlock, a stern expression on my face.

''And you...don't hurt him again.''

My words carried with them a note of absolute seriousness, and Sherlock nodded. I knew that he feared speaking beause he knew his voice would break, judging by the tears he was trying to hold back from falling. Finally, he did manage to utter one single word, with a tone which held such gravity in it that I didn't suspect for a moment that John would be safe and loved.

_''Never.''_

* * *

John's POV:

She was gone before I had completely realized what actually occurred. Her perfume mixed slightly with Sherlock's scent, until some time passed and all that was left was...the familiarity of _him_. Mary was gone and it was my fault. But I couldn't blame myself for living the first moments of joy in a long time. And she gave them to me. She gave me the rest of my life. And he stood before me, his right hand slightly outstretched trembling ever so slightly, fear or rejection still there. I ghosted my eyes over his face, in his pale skin clearly etched his pain, and the toll the years have taken on both of us. I wanted nothing more than to take back time and do it all over again, take him away before Moriarty, before Mycroft's big mouth, before...just before. But, I knew I shouldn't rethink the past, but tackle the future.

Our hands fit together so easily, his slightly colder than mine, but soon warming under the reassuring pressure my palm applied.

We were going to be just fine.

* * *

Sherlock's POV:

Alive. Complete. I felt the breath rush into my lungs as if they were never before touched by oxygen. The heart under my ribs beat an actual, proper beat. It hadn't done that in three years and four months.

My life is back and its name is John Hamish Watson.


End file.
